I used the postage tracker to see where a couple of packages were. They said they had been delivered to the local post office and I had to go collect the items. There were three packages, and the text message said they had all been delivered. 

I went to the post office and asked for my packages, showing the assistant my text. He found two packages and said the third wasn’t there. I showed him the text message again and asked him politely to check again. He refused. A line was growing behind me and I was starting to feel embarrassed but I believed my item was there because the text had never let me down before. I asked two more times, and he said no, the item was certainly not there, and he continued to refuse checking a second time. 

By this point, I’d become that annoying customer who won’t leave, and I said if he checked one more time and it came up empty, then I’d go. I was mortified and felt bad for the customers behind me, but I believed I was right and I didn’t want to come back another day for a package that had already been delivered. 

He checked. 

He came back with my remaining package. 

No apology. 

I walked out feeling victorious.

(My coworker has just finished scanning and bagging a customer’s groceries, which have all been stacked into his trolley. The customer goes to pay, but it doesn’t work. At first, he seems quite nice about it. I am watching from the register opposite.)

Customer: “This is a new card. Maybe it hasn’t been activated yet. I’ll just run down to the bank and check.”

(The bank chain in question has a location in the same shopping centre as my store, and is about a two-minute walk away. It’s not unheard of for cards to not work and for customers to run down to the bank to sort it out. They’re rarely gone longer than 15 or 20 minutes before they come back and pay.)

Coworker: “No worries. I can save your transaction and you can pay when you get back. You are coming back, right?”

Customer: *suddenly very stern and angry* “No!”

(And with that, he marched out of the store, leaving my coworker speechless and with a trolley stacked high with groceries to deal with.)

(This happens at an in-home cleaning products party when I am 23 but look much younger. As the room fills up, I realize that there aren’t enough chairs and give up my seat for the host as it’s her home and she’s much older than I am. I sit on the floor. Here are the interactions between myself and the lady who is presenting and selling the products.)

Sales Rep: *obviously mistaking me for a teenager as she’s handing out order forms and sees me sitting on the floor* “Did you want one, too?”

Me: *knowing I’m going to order around $700 worth of cleaning products* “Yes.”

(Later, after filling out my order form.)

Me: “Hi, I’ve filled this out but [item] is on sale for [cheaper price] than the price listed. How do I adjust that on the form?”

Sales Rep: *not listening to me at all* “What you do, sweetie, is add up the prices and put the total here at the bottom.”

Me: “Yes, I’ve done that for everything else but what about this item that’s on sale? Where do I record the sale price when it’s already listed as [normal price]?”

Sales Rep: *finally paying attention* “Oh, sorry. Wow, you’ve ordered a lot of stuff here.”

(My dad travels a lot for work. He is also practically blind without his glasses. One night, while asleep in a hotel room, he thinks he hears one of us kids crying and stumbles out the door of his room to find us. It is then that he wakes up properly and realises he is locked out of his room, without his glasses, in an unfamiliar corridor, in an unfamiliar hotel, wearing only his undies. For fifteen minutes, he gropes around walls, doors, and fire hydrants until he eventually finds his way to the stairs, and then along another corridor until he finally gets to the reception desk. There’s no one there — it’s the middle of the night — but he can hear some noise in the back room.)

Dad: “Hello? 

(Two employees come out, quietly chortling, and look unsurprised to see Dad standing there in his smalls.)

Dad: “Sorry, mate, I just need some help getting back into my room; I’ve managed to lock myself out.”

Employee: “Yeah, mate, we’ve been watching you on the security camera and were wondering how long it’d take you to get down here.” *laughs hysterically*

(Fortunately, my dad has a wicked sense of humour and happily tells this story to anyone.)

I’m moving from a small seaside town in Australia back home to New Zealand. This involves a flight from the small town to Adelaide, Adelaide to Melbourne, and then finally from Melbourne to New Zealand. There are long stopovers in Adelaide and Melbourne, meaning the trip will take the better part of 24 hours.

My partner is staying in Australia for a couple of months to finish out a lucrative contract, so we’ll be long distance for that time. To top it off, I manage to get food poisoning, so I spend the trip throwing up in airport and airplane bathrooms. I’m feeling totally miserable.

Staff have been fantastic and have moved me to the back row of the plane by the bathrooms. The back of the plane is mostly empty, and I have the entire row to myself. I’m on the final flight from Melbourne to home and they have announced that all passengers must be in their assigned seats for takeoff and landing. Being so close to done, I can’t wait to get home and into bed. 

Another passenger has moved to the row opposite me and spread out, despite the air hostess asking him multiple times to return to his assigned seat. She even promises that she’ll save the row for him so he can move back after takeoff. 

The man is getting more and more belligerent and refuses to move, wanting to know why he can’t stay. I can hear staff discussing if they need to delay takeoff and have him removed by security.  

I’m sick, exhausted, and just want to get home. So I snap. It should also be noted that I’m barely five feet tall and I’m wearing a sparkly pink jumper at this point. 

“Listen here, you f****** idiot. They’ve asked you to sit in your assigned seat for takeoff and landing because that’s when the plane is most likely to crash. The likelihood of surviving a crash is slim to none, so the hope is, if you’re in your seat and buckled in, your charred, mangled corpse will still be tethered to it. That way DVI (disaster victim identification) experts like myself can match your body to your seat number as an identification start point and maybe give your family something to bury! Furthermore, civil aviation law requires you to comply with all crew instructions. So, get your f****** a** up and back to your seat before you’re thrown off and arrested, and piss me off further than you already have!” 

The man — and air hostesses — look shocked, but he quietly gets up and moves back. 

I apologize to the air hostesses for my outburst and language. But they tell me there is no need and they can’t have been nicer, bringing me ginger ale and crackers after takeoff. 

Shockingly, the guy doesn’t try to move back to the empty row after takeoff.

This story is part of our Terrible Airline Passengers roundup!

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